


Wicked Style

by twyly56



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Adorable Season 1! Edward Nygma, Angst, Arkham Asylum, Blackouts, Breaking and Entering, Bullying, But the Riddler Loves Him, Choking, Dancing and Singing, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drunk Oswald Cobblepot, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dubious Morality, Eccentricity, Ed Is Oswald's Friend, Ed Keeps Crushing On Girls Who Think He's a Weirdo, Fade to Black, Gotham City Police Department, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jekyll and Hyde Complex, Laughter, Masks, Mental Health Issues, Multiple Personalities, Murder, Poisoning, Poor Ed Keeps Waking Up in Places He Didn't Fall Asleep In, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Riddler, Protective Edward Nygma, Protective Riddler, Sassy - In Charge! Riddler, Self Confidence Issues, Serial Killer Edward Nygma, Strangulation, Sweet Edward Nygma, Talking To Someone Through Someone Else, Teasing, That Awkward Moment When You End Up Insulting Yourself, The Iceberg Lounge, Torture, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twyly56/pseuds/twyly56
Summary: The Riddler is mild mannered Edward Nygma's other personality. He comes out to play at night after Ed goes to sleep and can't keep him at bay any longer. The Gotham Police Department is baffled by the serial killer that leaves behind a signature green question mark amidst their destruction. The Riddler doesn't usually feel emotions like Ed, so when he feels compelled to save an odd little man from being beaten to death, it confuses him. It doesn't take him long to figure out why, though.





	1. Prologue

_"All my life, I've felt like there was someone inside me. Someone stronger... and - and smarter. Someone that people could fear."_  

Ed watched, detached, as his hand, but not his hand, slid the blade between the man's ribs. It was an odd thing to see his limbs moving without his consent. Maybe that was why he was usually kept under during the Riddler's playtime. Riddler winked at him before jerking out the knife and plunging it into his victim's neck, deep and hard. Hot blood spilled over his green gloved hands. 

_"No one's going to be afraid of 'The Riddler'!"_

**_"Maybe not yet, but they will be."_ **

The Riddler's thumb pressed onto the little spray button, and the spray can spurted verdant paint onto the crumbly brick. He methodically drew a question mark and grinned down at the corpse. He began to set up the clue. 

**_Spread the word... the Riddler is coming!"_ **

Riddler laughed as he danced across the stage, long limbs moving fluidly in quick succession. He grabbed the sword from his assistant and waltzed over to his mark. With a wide grin, he thrust it through the stranger's chest. It squelched as he drew it back out. The man slumped to the floor with glassy eyes. 

**_"Soon I'm gonna come out..."_ **

_"No! I won't let you. I know what you do."_

**_"Oh, you mean like kill that little 'girlfriend' of yours? Yeah, I guess I'm gonna do that."_ **

_"NO!"_

**_"I am doing you a favor! Do you know what she_ did? _What she will do to you?"_**

Ed woke up, and the girl he had wanted to pursue didn't come in. She didn't come at all ever again. 

_"I'm not that man."_

He told himself that everyday. He was crazy. He wasn't. The Riddler was just his way of coping. 

_"What am I?"_

_"You are insane."_

_"Was insane. I have a certificate."_

Riddler waved the certificate at him with a smirk. The man tied to the chair didn't seem to appreciate his good mood, so he decided to just get on with business. A knife slid out of his sleeve as he stalked forward. 

**_"Find my clue."_ **

Riddler clicked the phone off and slid it into his pocket. He walked away from the crime whistling under his breath. 

_"Why did you have to leave a clue? Why?!"_

**_"Because it's_ fun! _"_**

Ed growled at his other part, and Riddler just grinned. He loved to pick on his sweeter side. Ed hated it. 

**_"Miss me?"_ **

_"What are you doing here? I banished you for good."_

**_"But why would you want that? We had so much fun when we were me."_ **

Ed smashed the mirror with a frustrated scream. 

**_"And now... for the fun part."_ **

Riddler thumbed open a new page of his notepad and flicked his pen open. His marks stared up at him with wide eyes, practically radiating fear. 

**_"That felt good."_ **

_"And the fun begins!"_

**_"Now you're getting it."_ **

Riddler patted him on the metaphorical shoulder and pulled a pistol from his waistband. 

**_"Without fingers, I point. Without feet, I run. What am I?"_ **

Blank stares, thudding heartbeats. 

**_"What time is it?"_ **

_"Riddle time!"_

The people gathered in front of him yelled. Riddler bowed to them. 

_"Who would fall in love with a freakshow like you?"_

Ed's back slammed into the locker, and he squirmed in the bully's grasp. He flinched when the older boy raised his fist. 

**_"I cannot be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance. I am worthless to one but priceless to two. What am I?"_ **

_"Love."_

Why did Riddler have to know everything about him? 

**_"Oftentimes the most brilliant minds are blind to the most obvious truths."_ **

Ed scowled at him and pulled his tie loose in retaliation. His other part frowned. Riddler hated wearing untidy clothes. 

**_"Sometimes, we may need to read between the lines."_ **

He smiled as they read through the book, marking patterns of words with a yellow highlighter. 

_"Why are you laughing?"_

_"Stop it!"_

_"Be quiet!"_

_"Just go away!"_

Ed dug his fingers into his hair and screamed. Riddler just whispered the blunt truth into his ear. 

**_"You need to face it, pal. The only way you'll be able to get rid of me is to kill yourself."_ **

He grabbed the knife from the Riddler's jacket and pressed it to his wrist. He barely managed to nick himself before everything went black. 

**_"A nightmare for some. For others, a savior I come. My hands cold and bleak. It's the warm hearts they seek."_ **


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Spirit of the Goat" crime happened earlier in this AU.

Ed stopped just in front of the Records Annex, and he heard Kristen's soft voice drift to him. His heart fluttered in his chest. 

"Uh huh. Of course, sir. No, I will bring those files to you right away." 

He wrapped his fingers around the door handle and twisted it open, stepping into the room. The door shut behind him with a gentle click. Kristen froze where she was standing, a large box of case files in her arms. She nodded politely to him. 

"Mr. Nygma," she murmured. Ed smiled and gave her a little half bow. 

"Miss Kringle," he said. 

Kristen started to look uncomfortable after he continued to stare at her for a few moments without blinking. She glanced to the side and stepped around him to go to the door. Ed leaned over slightly to catch the scent of her perfume, and he inhaled. It was a soft floral scent that suited her natural musk perfectly. Kristen jerked a little further away from him and continued to the door. Ed walked over to the row of cabinets. He pulled open a drawer and looked back at Kristen. 

"I'm just looking for all the information you have on the Goat murders from ten years ago," he told her. Kristen turned to face him. Her expression was strained. She shifted the box in her arms. "Don't you find it curious that someone would resurrect the myth of a centuries old boogeyman? And what is it about the Goat that has made two separate people decide to kill in his name?" 

He chuckled softly and glanced back at the files to thumb through the labels at the top of the manila folders. Kristen reached for the door handle. 

"No. No, I don't find it curious," she said. 

"I think I would like your parents," Ed blurted. She spun back around with a startled look on her face. 

"Excuse me?" Kristen asked.

Ed bit back a wince and launched into his explanation.

"Kringle. Such a rare surname. Most people changed it generations ago due to embarrassment. Not only did your parents keep it, but they named you Kristen." Ed smiled. "Kristen Kringle. They must be humorous people. Humor is so important, don't you think?" he asked. 

"Just remember you have to sign out any evidence you pull," Kristen said as he pushed the drawer shut and opened another one. 

"How do you find anything at all in here? I mean, organizationally speaking, this place is a shambles," Ed told her, giving up the search for his files for the moment. 

"I'm warning you, Nygma," Kristen said. Her hard tone of voice made him look at her. He blinked. "I have this exactly as I want it. I know where everything is." She walked toward him with an irritated set to her brows. "Understand?" 

"Preternaturally," Ed responded. "But..." He looked her in the eyes. "I can help you, Kristen Kringle."

Her expression remained stiff. 

"I very much doubt that," Kristen said. Her curled ponytail bounced as she turned and marched out of the Records Annex. Ed noticed the Riddler in the corner of his vision lounging in Kristen's vacant swivel chair. He had an expression of amusement on his face. 

**_"You poor thing,"_** Riddler murmured with a tsk.

Ed ignored him and looked around at the file cabinets. There was no way he was going to be able to find anything with the way it was set up currently. He sighed softly.

"There has got to be a better way to do this," he said. 

 

Ed looked up from his project at the sound of the door opening. It clicked shut behind Kristen. Her mouth was open slightly, her eyes wide like she was shocked. Or horrified. 

"Oh my God," Kristen breathed. Ed set down a pile of files on the floor. 

"I'm improving your system. I'm implementing a rhizomatic cross index with the case files organized by subject but arranged more the way a peat moss organism grows. You know. Laterally." Ed pressed his wrists together and spread his fingers outwards, wiggling them in demonstration. He grinned. 

"I had this entire room organized," Kristen groaned. 

"I know, but now it will be rhizomatic. Lateral," Ed said. He made the hand motion again. 

Ed startled when the heavy box of case files fell from her arms onto the floor. 

"What did I _ever_ do you, Nygma?" Kristen cried. "What did I ever do that compelled you to come over here with your endless notes and suggestions and _riddles._ My _God,_ the _riddles_! What? Are you trying to get me to quit?" 

Ed's heart sank to his feet, and he leapt up to soothe her. He didn't understand. Why was she upset? What had he done?

"You can't want my job," she said. 

"No no no," Ed responded. "I want you!" 

Kristen's face went from frustrated to confused. He realized how that sounded. He flushed. 

"...to keep your job and to have it here. For working," Ed clarified quickly. 

Kristen stared at him for a moment before she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back into the wall. Her eyes were on the floor now. Ed swallowed. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a machete. 

"Okay. I'm getting the sense that this was somehow inappropriate," Ed said, gesturing to the little piles of files he had on the floor.

Kristen looked over at him finally. 

"You are so odd," she said. 

_Freak,_ _weird, odd._ Weren't they all the same thing? 

His heart ached. Ed nodded slowly and looked down. 

"I'll just take my nonhierarchical data paradigms out of your hair, and leave you..." Ed held the files against his chest and stepped carefully over the piles, stumbling a little as he brushed past her. Her expression was tight. "...to your work." 

The familiar knocking pain in his head intensified, and he ground his teeth together. 

_'Not now,'_ he hissed. 

_**"Soon,"**_ Riddler said. 

Ed glanced back at Kristen, and she was still doing her very best to avoid eye contact with him. He pulled the door open again and slipped through. 

 

"Do you know why I had Butch bring you here today?" Fish asked. Her finely manicured fingers traced the rim of her wine glass, her dark skin shimmering slightly under the candlelight from the middle of the table. Oswald remained carefully blasé, his expression neutral. 

"No. Why have you had me brought to you?" he said, acting confused. 

Her brown eyes seemed to grow colder the longer he looked at her. 

"You should really know by now that I do not tolerate disloyalty," Fish said. 

"What do you mean?" Oswald asked. His heart skipped a beat. 

"Don't play dumb, boy," the woman growled. "I know you sold my secrets to the cops." She leaned forward slightly. "Did you really think I would not find out?" 

"Well, I'm not stupid," Oswald said. He had known his boss might find out eventually. He had just hoped it would have been a bit later. 

"Neither am I," Fish hissed. "You little scaly faced bitch." 

She rose from her seat and walked closer to him. Her lips curled up to reveal her neat white teeth. 

"What I am gonna to you... torture is too nice a word," Fish spat. 

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, Fish," Oswald said. He just couldn't resist needling her, even with the promise of pain and probably death. 

His face snapped to the side, and his cheek stung. Oswald touched his face. Her hand shot out again and gripped his chin tightly, too tight. His jaw ached. He winced, his head following her as she jerked it lower. 

"Only my friends call me Fish," the woman snarled. 

Fish shoved him, and he fell against the table, smacking his head against the smooth wood. His eyes snapped open in shock when he felt a sharp pain erupt over his back. The chair shattered over his body, and he gasped. Oswald collapsed to the floor on his hands and knees. Slender fingers wound into his hair and yanked his head back, igniting a sting in his scalp. He saw Butch pass her the steel baseball bat. His gut clenched in anticipation. 

"Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch," she ordered. 

The bat slammed into his leg hard. He felt something tear and heard a sickening crunch. Oswald screamed. 


	3. Chapter 3

Ed slid down the wall of the bathroom, a low whine of pain escaping his throat. His head felt like it was trying to split itself open, but it wasn't quite as bad as earlier when he had been speaking with Kristen. His neatly dressed counterpart paced in front of him, murmuring soft words beside his head. 

**_"It's my turn. Let me out,"_** Riddler said. 

He ran his hand over his face and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Ed closed his eyes, and he let his mind go blank. 

_Thud, thud, thud, thud._

Ed was still stressed out from his encounter with Miss Kringle, so it was harder for the Riddler to slip into place. He managed to, though. It was always disconcerting to be the one watching. Ed felt himself slip into the background of his own mind, and his long limbs stretched out, nimble fingers flexing. 

"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Riddler purred.

He looked down at Ed's clothes with distaste. The whole sweater over a button up shirt and tie tucked into grey slacks look was never his style. Riddler smoothed down the front of his clothing and rose to his feet. He smiled into the mirror. 

"Ready to go have some fun, Eddie?" he asked. 

_'I don't have much of a choice, do I?'_ Ed said. 

"No. Not really," Riddler agreed easily. 

 

Riddler strode to the center of the stage and bowed his head. His checkered black and green mask molded like a second skin to the top half of his face, only revealing flesh beneath his nose. The moment the spotlight snapped onto him, his eyes slid open, and he raised his hand above his head. He added in a smooth flick of his wrist. 

"What time is it?" he asked. 

"Riddle Time!" the crowd roared back at him. 

He tilted his head up and whipped his bowler hat off his head, holding it aloft in his right hand. He grinned out at the sea of faces. 

"What time is it?" Riddler asked. 

" _Riddle Time!_ " they screamed. 

"That's right! It's Riddle Time at the-" He paused just long enough for them to yell with him. "Riddle Factory!" 

Riddler replaced his hat on his head where it belonged and spun on his heel. He strode over to stand in front of the giant green question mark. He smiled. 

"Our first contestant is Matteo who has recently stopped working for Carmine Falcone and aspires to open up his own restaurant!" There was thunderous clapping in conclusion to his words. He walked to the podium where the dark eyed Italian stood. Matteo smiled nervously at him. Riddler leaned briefly against the podium. "It's been a rough go of it lately, huh, Matteo?"

The older man nodded. 

"I've fallen on some hard times," Matteo said. "But I'm damn happy to be here with you, Riddler." 

Riddler gave him a friendly smile and rapped the podium with his knuckles. 

"That the spirit, pal," he praised. "Now, you know the rules." Riddler stepped away from the stand in order to gesture along with his next words. "I ask you a riddle. You answer correctly. You ask me one. You win them both, and you're walking out of here with cold hard cash!" 

The crowd cheered. Matteo looked nervous. Riddler motioned to his assistant. 

"Lila, prepare the timer," he said. 

Lila nodded, the green feather in her hat bobbing with the movement, and she turned the gears on the timer. Riddler stepped forward on the stage and bowed his head for a moment in silence. 

"I am heavy forward, but backwards I am not." Riddler turned to face Matteo and pointed at him in an exaggerated motion. "What am I?" 

His assistant flipped the hourglass upside down, and green sand began to spill into the lower portion. Matteo's hands clenched and unclenched on the wooden edge of the podium. His brows furrowed, and he could almost see the gears turning in his head. 

"Okay... I'm heavy forward... but backward I'm not..." Matteo looked up at him frantically. He exhaled. "Okay. Wait. Wait wait wait a minute. No, no, I know this. It's, uh..." The man faltered, his confidence waning as the sand continued to pile higher and higher. "No, no, wait, I know this. Wait, wait, wait." His eyes widened, and he pointed at the timer. "It's the hourglass!" 

Riddler turned from him and spread his arms wide apart, gloved fists closed, head bowed. The lights narrowed in on him, and a soft suspenseful music played in the background. 

He suddenly turned his thumbs down. The buzzer sounded, and Matteo's eyes widened again, this time in fear. 

"Aaaw," the crowd went. 

His head tilted back up, and he looked out at the crowd. 

"The answer is ton. T - O - N." He made a backwards motion with his hands. "Backwards I am 'not'." Riddler glanced over at the man and gave him an unapologetic grin. "Sorry, Matteo." 

"Spin the Wheel! Spin the Wheel! Spin the Wheel!" the crowd cried. He tapped his index finger against his ear and smiled back at Matteo. 

"You hear them, Matteo," he said. Riddler gestured to the large brightly colored wooden wheel off to the side of the stage. "It's time to spin the Wheel of Misfortune!" 

The audience howled their approval. 

"Spin the Wheel! Spin the Wheel! Spin the Wheel!" 

Riddler nodded to his assistant, and she placed her hands on the Wheel. 

"Lila, please," he prodded. 

"Spin the Wheel! Spin the Wheel! Spin the Wheel! Spin the Wheel!"

Lila spun it, and the Wheel turned round and round. A grin split his face when it eventually landed on its final slot. 

"Ah, now that's _interesting!_ We haven't had this one in quite some time," Riddler said. He noted that the man's face had gone deathly pale, his eyes locked on the shiny bold lettering. "I guess you have 'stapling a barracuda to your forehead'!" 

He laughed with the crowd as some hired hands came forward and dragged a struggling Matteo out from behind the podium. Lila took out the barracuda from its tank and carried it in a burlap sack over to the men along with a heavy duty stapler. Riddler smiled. He only held a game show about once a month, but it was always very entertaining. 

 

Riddler wasn't trying to go anywhere besides their apartment, but some screams caught his attention. His curious whetted, he pinpointed their location. The screams appeared to be coming from the inside of what seemed to be an empty club building. To his bemusement, the back door only had one set of locks on it. Not even a deadbolt. Riddler picked the lock and slipped inside to take a closer look. 

A middle aged woman in a blue skirt and matching crop top was beating a smaller man with what looked like a metal baseball bat. A bulky brute was standing near them, presumably to ensure that the man wouldn't try anything. And what an odd little man he was. 

Features were harder to make out in the dim light of the lone set of candles sitting on the table, but he could see the man's face. It was all angles and sharp spots hidden beneath the blooming bruises and red marks, his somehow still intact nose pointed. Riddler cocked his head and considered the tight feeling coiling in his gut. It felt similar to what he was subjected to when Ed was in trouble or hurt.  

Odd. He had never experienced this before for someone else. 

Riddler filed that thought away for analyzation later and crept forward in the shadows. He slid his handgun out of his jacket. He aimed it at the brute. His finger squeezed down the trigger, and the bullet lodged itself in his thigh with a bang and squelch. The man yelled out and fell into a half kneeling position. The woman whipped her head up, and her dark eyes seemed to hone in on him, the intruder, instantly. Riddler cocked the gun at her. 

"I suggest you back off," he said, voice low and dangerous. 

The man had risen up a bit and was about to shoot him when Riddler shot him in the hand. It went straight through the side of his hand, and the pistol clattered to the floor as he moaned. Riddler stared the woman down, and she did give way after a few stubborn moments. The brute hurriedly limped after her, clutching his hand and recovered gun to his chest. 

Riddler turned to the smaller man still on the floor, and painfilled ice blue eyes looked up at him warily. The tight feeling in his gut didn't go away. Riddler was... not great at the whole comforting thing. That was usually Ed's forte. Riddler walked closer to him. The man attempted to scoot back, but that only caused him to whimper and clench his jaw tighter. Riddler extended a gloved hand to the smaller man, giving him a soft smile. 

"It's alright. I won't hurt you," Riddler said. 


	4. Chapter 4

Longish spiky black hair hung over the smaller man's face. He glanced at the Riddler's proffered hand with skepticism in his gaze. Deciding to treat the injured man like a little scared animal, Riddler lowered himself to his knees and shuffled forward slightly, arm still outstretched. The man trembled slightly and flinched when he tried to grab his hand. 

"Let me help you," Riddler murmured. 

"Wh-who are you?" the man demanded. His voice came out a bit shaky, but Riddler was impressed by the steel beneath it. There was just something about him...

"My name is the Riddler," he said. 

"What - what kind of name is that?" the man muttered. Riddler narrowed his eyes at him and noticed that he was acting dazed, blinking periodically and squinting at him. Ah. 

"I believe that you have a concussion, sir," Riddler said. "The best thing for you to do is to remain calm. Okay?" 

"Don't... touch me!" he cried, futilely batting at him with shaky hands. 

The fact that he was so disoriented by his condition and the pain in other areas of his body helped the Riddler a lot in getting him into his arms. The man struggled and fought against him as much as he was able to, which wasn't much, but his squirming was mildly distracting. 

"Please calm down," Riddler said. 

"Let me go!" the man hissed back. 

"You need medical attention," Riddler reminded him in a stern tone. "Stop this nonsense, or I will drop you." 

The man rubbed at his head and groaned softly. 

"Ow... too loud..." he whispered. 

"My apologies," Riddler murmured. 

He adjusted the man's weight in his arms and carried him out of the building, the thick grey clouds just beginning to dissipate in the night sky. 

 

Consciousness slowly filtered back to his brain. Something warm and soft was pressed to his bare cheek. In fact, it felt like he was lying on a whole lot of something warm and soft. Was he dead? Had Fish beat him that badly? Oswald cracked his eyes open and winced at the dim light falling over his face. He moved to sit up, and his aching body protested at the simple movement. 

Oswald groaned. It felt as if there were bruises everywhere. And his head. His head just kept on pounding dully, thumping in his ears. He frowned as he moved his legs and encountered a stiffness on his right leg. He reached under the thick blanket, and his hand touched what appeared to be a brace of some sort. Oswald blinked and glanced down the length of the bed. His hand encountered a couple of pillows that had been stuffed under his injured leg. The blanket was raised because of it. 

A clatter of dishes drew his attention to the foot of the bed. A tall man with brown hair that was brushed to the side and glasses walked over to him holding a tray with a single glass of water on it. A purple and green straw was poking out of it. Oswald frowned at him, fingers clutching at the blanket like a shield. The man gave him a friendly boyish smile. 

"Oh good! You're awake," the man said. 

"You... what do you want with me?" Oswald asked. The man in glasses grinned. 

"What I want the poor have, the rich need, and if you eat it, you'll die," he said. 

Oswald blinked at him. 

"Is this... are you asking me a riddle?" he asked. 

"Do you like riddles?" the man asked. 

"No," Oswald replied. 

"So do you give up then?" the man asked. Oswald violently fought the urge to drag a hand over his face. 

"Look, friend-" he started. He was cut off. 

"Nothing! The answer is nothing. The poor have it, the rich need it, and if you eat it, you'll die," the man blurted out. 

"Okay, look," Oswald sighed. "Who are you?" 

"Edward. Nygma," the man answered. His smile was a bit creepy. "What's your name?" 

Oswald pursed his lips together. 

"Oswald... Cobblepot," he finally said. 

"Do you believe in fate, Mr. Cobblepot?" Edward asked. Oswald ignored the weird question and frowned down at his attire. He was wearing too big flannel pajamas that, while comfortable, were not what he had passed out in. 

"Where are my clothes?" he asked. 

"Oh, I threw them away. They were rather thrashed," Edward explained. 

Oswald frowned and pushed the blanket off of him. He swung his good leg off the bed, and he maneuvered his other one with his hands. The taller man set down the tray quickly. 

"Oh no. Oh my. Uh, I'm afraid you can't leave," Edward said, lightly touching his shoulders. Oswald angrily tried to shove him away. 

"I have to go. I can't stay. Thank you, but I have to leave," he said. 

The other man grabbed his wrists and held them in his hands, his grip firm but not painful. Oswald stilled. Their eyes met. 

"Sir. You are a wanted man. In your condition, you won't make it down the stairs, let alone to whatever place you feel you must go to. You have extensive injuries. I'm afraid that you're stuck here until you recover," Edward told him. 

He released his wrists and stepped away from him. Oswald knew he was literally at this man's mercy. He couldn't walk. He had no weapons. Oswald numbly let Edward help him adjust his braced leg over the pillows and pull the blanket over him up to his stomach. He sat up against the headboard with a pillow behind his back. Edward offered the glass of water to him again. 

"Now drink up," he said. At Oswald's wary look, he continued speaking. "It's just water. Dehydration is very common after a concussion." 

Oswald scowled at the glass and pushed it away tiredly. 

"Okay, here." Edward pulled another straw from a container on the bedside table and plonked it in the glass. He took a large gulp. He smiled. "See? Just water." 

Edward took out his straw and set the tray down on Oswald's lap. Oswald picked the glass up after a moment. He drank the water slowly, and he would never admit just how nice it felt coating his desert dry throat. He placed the now empty glass back on the tray. Edward smiled at him and took it off his lap. 

"Are you hungry, Mr. Cobblepot?" he asked. Oswald shook his head. 

"No." 

"That's fine. I'll just leave something out for you for later," Edward said. "Oh! And ice. You'll need ice." 

"Are you going somewhere?" Oswald asked. The taller man looked sheepish. 

"Yes. I have to go in for work. But I'll be back early today, I promise. Six pm at the latest," Edward said. 

"...okay," Oswald mumbled. 

"Just rest and heal, Mr. Cobblepot. Please don't hurt yourself trying to get out," Edward said. "This is a safe place." 

Oswald didn't say anything. He just looked down at the worn blanket. His fingers curled in the thick material, squeezing it in frustration. He hated being helpless. 

 

"It's because we have orphans in bulk. But where is the market in that? They're out on the street because no one wants them anyway. Now if they said someone was snatching cute girls, I'd believe them. But what would anyone want with a lard ass like Mackey?" Detective Bullock said. 

"What is it, Ed?" Commissioner Essen asked, irritation plain in her voice. 

Ed walked out from behind the blind shuttered window of her office and into the room. He grinned at them. 

"Guess what I found?" Ed said. Commissioner Essen gave him a pointed look. "I did a blood test on him, and I found he had high levels of ATP. What is ATP?" Gordon raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Ed smiled. "It's a fast acting knockout drug. They used to use it at the old Arkham Asylum. It's hard to get. No recreational use." 

Bullock nodded, reluctantly impressed. 

"Alright. Okay. That's something," he said. The Commissioner looked at Ed. 

"Is there anything else?" she asked. 

Ed shook his head. There was an awkward silence.

"Thank you, Ed," Commissioner Essen said. 

Ed nodded again. Gordon cleared his throat and looked at the door. 

"Thank you, Ed," she repeated a bit more forcefully. 

The smile fell from his face, and he pressed his lips together. Ed left her office. 


	5. Chapter 5

The Riddler's lips twitched into a dark smile beneath the black cloth pulled over the lower half of his face. He stalked behind the lackey, footsteps soft on the cracked asphalt. He patiently waited for the man to turn into an alleyway before he lunged, knocking him into the wall. His shout was muffled by the gloved hand clamped over his mouth. The pale chloroform saturated cloth pressed against his nose and lips. The lackey put up a valiant struggle against him, but the Riddler was determined. He also did this sort of thing on a daily basis, so he had it down to an art form. In five minutes, the man had slumped into his arms, unconscious. The Riddler grinned. 

 

"Oh my gosh," Ed exclaimed. "You really like him, don't you?" 

He felt the Riddler scowl at him from the side of his vision. His neater dressed counterpart was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

 _ **"Shut up,"**_ Riddler said. 

"No, no. Seriously. This is hilarious!" Ed chuckled. "You _like_ Oswald!" 

 ** _"I have no idea what you are talking about, Eddie,"_** Riddler said. 

Ed held up his hand and started ticking off points with his fingers. 

"First, you saved him. For no apparent reason might I add. Second, you brought him home and patched him up. And you're still taking care of him. Third-" Ed gestured to the man tied to a chair with burlap sack and duct tape over his head. "You got him a present. Only instead of flowers or chocolates, you kidnapped him a person to torture." 

 ** _"He is interesting,"_** Riddler allowed with reluctance. _ **"But I**_ ** _do not have something as juvenile as a crush on him."_**

"Right," Ed said, drawing out the vowel obscenely. "Of course you don't." 

 ** _"You don't exactly have a leg to stand on in that department,"_** Riddler shot back. 

"Oh, ouch," Ed replied. "Feeling testy today, are we?" 

 ** _"I will lock you out again if you don't stop talking, Ed,"_** Riddler threatened. 

"Hey, hey. Calm down, buddy. I'm not complaining. Oswald is definitely something. I just find it funny that my little psychopath has a crush," Ed said. 

 _ **"I do not have a crush!"**_ Riddler hissed. 

"Okay. So... you're not going to give him to Oswald, then?" Ed said with a smirk. His other part glared at him. 

 ** _"I hate you,"_** Riddler muttered, clenching his fists. 

Ed just huffed out a laugh and dragged the bound man into the elevator. 

 

Oswald tried to stay awake until Edward came back from work, but fatigue soon overtook his mind. His eyes snapped open at the sound of muffled whimpering. He scrambled into a sitting position despite the protest his bruised muscles gave him. He blinked in confusion at the suit wearing man that had a brown bag tied over his head and secured by a layer of black duct tape. His wrists were secured to the arms of the wooden chair and the way his legs were straining too, he assumed that his ankles were tied to the legs of the chair as well. Edward poked his head up from behind the man and gave him another grin that seemed bizarrely happy for the current situation. 

"Ta-da!" Edward said. He chuckled. Oswald frowned at him tiredly. 

"Who is that?" he asked. 

"This-" He placed his hands on the man's shoulders. "-is Mr. Andrea. You were talking in your sleep last night about your old boss." 

"I was?" Oswald said. 

"Yes," Edward replied. He shook the man's shoulders again. Mr. Andrea gave a startled sound. "Mr. Andrea worked for Fish Mooney. Well, before I kidnapped him, of course." 

"I can see that," Oswald said dryly. 

"A very reliable little birdie may or may not have dropped a hint to Don Falcone about Miss Mooney's plans to overthrow him and take his power," Edward continued with a smile. He chuckled. "I know for a fact that he was not pleased with that information." 

"Why are you doing this for me, Edward?" Oswald asked, suspicion heavy in his voice. Edward's lips quirked slightly. 

"I told you who I am. Though you may not remember. You did have a concussion after all," he said. His voice had lowered and taken on an edge it hadn't had before. 

Oswald felt like his head was spinning a bit from the information. His mind blanked out. He frowned at Edward.  

"...okay. What is he doing here?" he asked. 

"He was a gift for you," Edward answered brightly. He spread with hands slightly in a gesture of demonstration. 

"And what exactly am I supposed to do with an Andrea?" Oswald asked with a slight huff. 

Edward placed his hands on Mr. Andrea's head and jostled it a bit.The taller man's long fingers curled around the loose parts of the burlap and dug into Mr. Andrea's skull. Mr. Andrea gave a muffled shriek. 

"Kill him!" Edward said. Mr. Andrea whimpered. "I thought it might be nice for you to get some retribution for what was done to you." Edward walked over to him and pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket. He flicked the blade out and extended it to Oswald with a smile. "And it might cheer you up. At least until you can get better and find your revenge in a more substantial way." 

Oswald looked down at the knife. He slowly accepted it from Edward's hand and moved the blanket off of himself. He crawled to the bottom edge of the bed and sat with his legs dangling off. His bad leg was stiff in its brace. The hardwood felt cool under his bare feet. Edward moved the chair closer to him. Oswald looked up at the taller man. 

His hand lashed out, and he gripped a fistful of Edward's grey sweater. Oswald yanked him close and pressed the switchblade to his throat. Edward didn't even flinch. His brown eyes just watched him calmly, and his body remained relaxed in his hold. Oswald stared hard at him. 

"I could kill you," he said. 

"You could," Edward agreed easily.

He tilted his head to expose his neck more and looked at Oswald through hooded eyes. His pulse was steady beneath Oswald's wrist. Warmth from the other man's body bled into his chest, and a soft, shallow breath was exhaled against his cheek. Oswald let out a small growl of frustration and lowered the knife. The other man straightened himself. There was a moment of awkward silence where they simply stared at each other. 

"My mother always said a party's not a party without entertainment," he remarked to Edward. 

The tension snapped when Edward laughed. 

"Bag on or off?" he asked. 

"You can leave it on," Oswald said. 

"Alright," Edward replied amiably and leaned against the windowsill to watch him. 


	6. Chapter 6

"Do you like Chinese food?" Edward asked him.

Oswald shrugged and leaned back on the bed against the pillows. The blood soaked switchblade slipped out of his hand. It landed on the blanket, crimson seeping into the fabric.

"I suppose," he replied.

"Oh, good. I know this really nice Chinese place," Edward said.

He walked over to the kitchen and washed his hands. Edward filled up a basin of water, and he brought it to him with a bar of soap. He set it on the table beside the bed with a smile.

"Now you can clean up," he said. "Hold on, and I'll make you something to eat."

"Alright. That's fine. Thank you," Oswald responded.

Edward went into the kitchen and began to order something on the phone. He came back after a moment, and he dragged the body away the bed. The taller man cut away his bindings and pulled him away from the chair onto a plastic covering on the floor. Oswald watched the other man hum a jaunty under his breath as he began to slice into what was left of Mr. Andrea with a bone saw. He frowned.

"Why do you have that?" he asked the other man.

"Oh, this?" Edward stopped sawing for a moment to hold up the instrument. "I work in forensics. I nicked it from the medical examiner's supplies. He has more than a couple spares."

"You work for the GCPD?" Oswald said.

The taller man chuckled and nodded his head.

"Yes. I do," Edward replied.

"And you don't think that kidnapping and torturing someone goes against... your ethics?" Oswald asked.

"This is hardly the worst thing he's - _I've_ \- ever done," Edward said. 

"...okay," Oswald muttered.

"By the way... did you know that male emperor penguins keep their eggs warm by balancing them on their feet?" The 't' was emphasized with a flick of his tongue against his teeth. Edward smiled warmly at him and cocked his head. "Isn't that neat?" 

Oswald stared at him. 

 

"Falcone. Maroni. Arkham. How in the hell do you know so much all of a sudden?" Detective Bullock asked.

Detective Gordon pursed his lips and was about to answer when he noticed Ed standing by the railing with a manila folder tucked under his arm. He jerked his head in his direction, and Detective Bullock caught on. They both moved over to where Ed was.

"Ed. What have you got?" Detective Bullock asked.

"I have a paradox for you," Ed said, pushing the center of his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

"What?" Detective Bullock asked.

"Well, a paradox, Detective, is when you-" Ed was cut off.

"I know what a paradox is, smartass. What paradox?" Detective Bullock asked him.

"These are the medical examiner's reports on the murders of Councilman Jenkins and his aide. Both of them sustained fatal puncture wounds to the skull via the eye socket," Ed explained. He made a jabbing motion with his right hand in demonstration. "The weapon was some kind of metal spike."

"Okay, so?" Detective Bullock said.

"Councilman Zeller also has wounds from a metal spike." Ed folded his manila folder against his chest and raised his eyebrows. "That's an extremely unlikely coincidence, don't you think?" He smiled.

"So you're saying Zeller, Jenkins, and the aide were killed by the same person?" Detective Bullock asked.

"It would appear so, wouldn't it?" Ed replied.

"The same killer. Working for both Maroni and Falcone? That's nuts," Detective Gordon said.

"Only in Gotham," Detective Bullock agreed with a chuckle. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Detective Gordon asked. The detectives turned away from him and began to walk down the street.

"We're going to go see a friend of mine," Detective Bullock replied.

Ed smiled to himself and walked back to his car.

 

Oswald walked down the hallway to his mother's apartment. His temporary leg brace, which Edward had just switched the heavier, clunkier one for last week, still made his gate a bit awkward, but it wasn't impossible to walk on his own anymore. It, thankfully, was easily hidden underneath a pair of loose black slacks. Oswald had taken a while to get used to the odd man who had taken him in, but Edward had grown on him despite his own reluctance. He actually appeared to be genuinely concerned about Oswald for some reason.

Sometimes it felt like there were two people talking to him. One was klutzy and very socially inept, often standing too close to him or smiling at the strangest times. The other was cool, calm, and collected at all times, but also very passionate and even at some points eccentric to the point of absurdity. In any case, Edward Nygma was a complex man, that was for sure. And oddly enough, he was slowly becoming, over these past few weeks, the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend. Which really said just how sad his social life was.

Oswald raised his hand and rapped sharply on the wooden door. The metal nine hanging on the door glinted in the low light. There was no response. He knocked a few more times on the door, clearing his throat. 

"Mother!" Oswald called. 

There was a clicking sound as the door was unlocked from the inside, and his mother turned the door knob. Her curly blonde hair was messy and unkempt, as it often got when she was worried, and he felt a momentary stab of guilt. 

"Away for so long, and now he scratches at the door... like a filthy tom cat!" Gertrude said. 

"Hi, Mom. I'm alive," Oswald replied. His smile dropped, and he let out a sigh. He walked into the apartment and shut the door behind him with a clang. "I don't know why you always think I'm running off with some painted lady. I don't even date." 

Oswald hobbled over to the couch and sank into the decorated cushions. His mother followed him with a huff. 

"Why you don't call your mother in all this time? I tell you why," Gertrude said. She leaned forward. "You got tangled in some hussy's demon purse!" 

Oswald fought back a snort. He could only imagine Edward's response to being called a hussy. He settled for a sigh instead. 

"Mother, there was no hussy. Only betrayal and savagery and..." Oswald trailed off and swallowed. His mother's eyes softened. "All I wanted was a little respect. And they hurt me so cruelly." 

His mother knelt in front of him and placed her hands on his knees. If she noticed the brace, she made no mention of it. 

"There was no other woman?" Gertrude said. 

Oswald let out a sardonic chuckle. 

"I've been to hell and back. They tried to kill me," he told her. 

His mother tsked and grabbed his hand, stroking the back of it with her cool fingers. 

"The bullies again! My poor, poor darling. They only do these things because they resent you," she said. Gertrude cupped his face with her other hand. "Envy and spite. That's all it is." 

Oswald placed his hand over hers, and his mother lowered it, letting him hold her hand in his lap. 

"You watch, Mom. I'm gonna be somebody in this town," he said. 

His mother smiled at him. 

"I always knew this," Gertrude murmured. 

Oswald smiled. 

"Thanks, Mom," he said. 


End file.
